bumtown


I shrugged that mouthy devil off, so tired of his hot cough at my ear. And that prissy angel didn't make a sound as she fluttered to the ground. I took off my packsack of shitty history, shoved it in a luggage locker, ate the key. Well I got one barefoot in the grave, but you know I'm just testing the water. And death's too fucking cold for me.

I pawned off all my broken hearts, bought some spare parts 'case my soul falls apart, traded in the chains for some patched up wings. This downtown strip's just a runway for me. I'm the only bum in this bumtown that's free.

Last call at the Last Supper, I was drinking ale out of the holy grail. That brother with the halo hadn't shut up yet so I said, "hey now waitress, bring my cheque." I stuffed my pockets with holy bread, shouldered my cross, headed for the door, passed out drunk in a ditch, slept for 3 days, woke up, looked around, slept for 3 days more. If I had a dollar for every drink I drunk, I'd buy this whole room a round. Hell, if I had a dollar for every drink I ever drunk, I'd buy the whole fucking world a round.

Brother spare me dollar, spare me a dime. I'll spin you a tale as long as this ball of yarn of time. I'll sing a barnyard song as off-key as this out-of-tune heart. But don't you start thinking about it or you'll end up just like me.
 
 

lyrics: Scott Wicken

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